Ten Per Cent
by waterlilylf
Summary: Chapter Five. Trowa arranges a surprise first meeting, unfortunately for someone who does't like surprises. AU. Yaoi.  COMPLETE
1. Crossed Wires

Note: this one is for Mifibou, my official translator, with many thanks for the wonderful job. Sorry it took so long, but I did mention Paris.

Thanks, as always, to KS for editing.

**Ten Per Cent:**

Ten per cent.

That's the official statistic they're bandying about nowadays. Ten per cent of any given population has gay/bi/metrosexual leanings.

Ten fucking per cent. No pun intended there or anything.

Statistics seriously suck. Hey, try saying that ten times, really fast.

So if you happen to meet a guy, say this gorgeous guy with blue eyes and a body that clearly gets brought to the gym a lot, then the odds are totally stacked against him swinging your way.

Even if he does, (and just for argument's sake, let's say he's your boss, so you can't just ask him straight out) how the hell are you ever supposed to _know_? Unless he actually comes to work one day wearing a spangly rainbow scarf in his messy, unbelievably messy hair, and humming an ABBA song, and brandishing flyers for the latest Gay Pride Parade, which he's organising….yeah, unless he does all that stuff, it's not easy to find out.

Especially when he tends not to talk about personal stuff (tends not to talk at all, unless it's work related) and has never once mentioned a yearning to visit San Francisco – with or without flowers in his hair – or asked where's a good place to get giant-sized bottles of lube on special. Or giant-sized condoms.

Oh, yeah. There's one other thing. He has a girlfriend.

Now, the Maxwell jury is still sort of out on whether she's a girl who's a friend, or an actual girlfriend. Probably the latter.

He's got her picture on his desk - a picture of the two of them. I stare at it a lot, and while I do try to blank out the Relena half of the equation, she's still there. I stare at it and agonise over what the body language means.

He does have his arm around her shoulder, and they're both smiling, but she's not leaning into him or anything. Although, he's a pretty private person, so maybe he picked out the photo with the least amount of physical contact to display to his colleagues.

He's the boss's son, after all – no, make that stepson, so maybe he's expected to show a little decorum. Maybe all the x-rated pics are hidden away at home.

On good days, I can convince myself they're just friends. When I first started here, on the factory floor, I stuck a photo of my friend Hilde on the inside of my locker door, just as camouflage. Working with a gang of mostly-male technicians, it's a pretty good idea to keep your sexuality on the low-key side.

They all found out anyway, after a bit. It wasn't a big deal, 'til I got my promotion last year. Now, I'm _the fag_ who got elevated. I've heard comments on what I must have done to get said promotion.

Anyway, this isn't a good day.

Whether he likes men or women or fluffy bunnies isn't an issue any more. He'll be leaving in a couple of weeks' time and that will be that.

He came here for six months to get technical experience of doing the physical side of manufacturing; the plant on L2 is the biggest of all the Lowe Enterprises, so he was sent here to get an overview of our systems. And now he apparently knows everything so he's being transferred back to Head Office in Paris.

In France.

On Earth.

And yeah, he'll probably be back from time to time, to sit in on meetings, or approve new systems or whatever. He'll be Mr. Yuy, then, the guy who's being groomed to take over. He certainly won't be sharing an office with me, or asking my advice on stuff, or working on a project with me.

I've said he's my boss; that's not _officially_ true. Officially, we're partners (hah) working on a project together.

In reality though, he's the heir apparent, who'll own everything one day, and who has a whole alphabet of letters after his name from the most prestigious universities on Earth. He was partnered with me to get some technical, hands-on (I wish) know–how.

And I have that in spades. I started on the factory floor as part of a community training scheme when I was seventeen. It was some new initiative – get the juvenile delinquent kids off the streets and give them a crappy job with minimum wage. For some reason, the scheme mostly failed, but I got lucky.

I met this great guy called Howard, who rescued me from quality control hell – checking the grooves in screws (no jokes, please) – and got me into repairing machinery.

Life was pretty good for a few years, and then I was given this promotion, which meant most of my so-called friends dropped me. I was suddenly a suit, one of _them_; one of the guys who made the decisions and gave the orders. While a few of them were still friendly enough, it wasn't the same.

Trouble was, that sort of leaves me in Limbo. I don't fit in with the office folks either. Even the receptionists at Lowe's have university educations, and have travelled, and can speak a couple of languages. I have a diploma from the local community college that I got from night classes.

My best buddy Quatre is always saying that none of it matters, that I'm smarter and funnier and a zillion times nicer than any of those snobs, but it does matter.

Oh, fuck. Don't think about Quat. Not now. I'm going to lose my best friend, and the guy I'm crazy about in the space of the next couple of weeks.

Q is kind of like Heero; heir to his family company. He disgraced himself on his twenty-first birthday, officially coming out to his parents, who promptly banished him to the ends of the universe, aka L2, to manage the Winner subsidiary there. Being a freaky, sneaky genius, he turned an almost bankrupt company into a massively profitable one and Daddy Winner's recently decided his only son could go back home to Earth.

And he wants me to go with him, except I can't. Immigration to Earth from L2 is strictly controlled; you either have to have a Master's degree, or a skill that's badly needed on Earth, or a company willing to sponsor you.

Q spent weeks trying to let me accept a WEI sponsorship, to go and work for his family firm. His new thing is to pretend that we're a couple so I can get a partnership visa. We had a row about it last night; I hadn't wanted to lie and anyway they check out that sort of thing. Quat had yelled at me to get over the stupid hang-up about lying and that we'd lived together for nearly two years. We _were_ a couple in plenty of ways, bar the actual sex and stuff, and not even the most zealous immigration officer would ask us to perform for him.

Ah, that's him on the line now.

'Hey.' His voice is pretty subdued for him.

'Hey.'

'I'm sorry, OK? I just don't want to leave you here. I'll miss you so much.'

'Quat, you can come and visit any time you like. And I'll be really pissed off if you don't. And I can get a tourist visa and come to Sanque to see you.'

'It won't be the same. I'm going to miss you so much.' He sounds hopelessly forlorn. 'Duo, please, would you at least consider coming to Earth with me? I'll marry you if I have to, anything.'

'Let it go, Q. OK?' Shit, if he keeps on like that, I'll end up agreeing, just to stop him sounding so sad. 'It doesn't work like that. I know people who've tried to get those sort of partnership visas and it's damn near impossible. Apart from anything else, they monitor couples for the first three years on Earth. What happens if you meet some amazing guy while you're supposed to be with me? I can't let you fuck up your life like that.'

'I don't want to meet anyone,' he says defiantly. 'I'm so bad at choosing boyfriends that I'm better off being single.'

I raise my eyes; he actually has a point, though. For a smart guy, he has a sheer talent for picking out losers who took advantage of his sweet, sweet nature. The first time we'd met had been in a gay bar, and I'd rescued him from some pervert who'd been cruising him.

'Don't be stupid; of course you'll meet the right guy some day. And you don't want to be shackled to me when that happens. Oh, wait, can you hold a sec? I've got a call on the other line.'

The other line is actually Heero's but we usually picked up each other's calls, and I knew he'd been waiting for some statistics from Marketing.

Instead, it's his friend Trowa. Unlike Relena, who's visited three or four times, Trowa has never been to L2. He's an archaeologist who's been spending the last six months in Egypt, doing research at the museum in Cairo. Heero's shown me some of the photos he'd emailed. Trowa himself had been in one of them; a tall, lanky guy with most of his face hidden by a swathe of burnt-caramel hair. Pretty cute.

'Hey, Trowa. How's it going? Been attacked by evil killer mummies yet?'

'Not yet, no. Is Heero there?'

'No, he's gone for lunch. With Relena.'

'Ah.' He laughed. 'The pink princess herself.'

He's a nice guy, Trowa. I'd talked to him on and off when Heero was out of the office, and I get the impression that he wasn't all that crazy about Relena.

'You have to give her maximum points for trying, though. I mean, flying half way across the galaxy every few months just to see him. You'd think anyone else would have got the message by now that he's not interested in her.'

'What? She's his girlfriend!' God, maybe the mummies had got to him and taken over his brain. Or those little scarab beetles had squirmed under his skin and devoured his brain cells. Or maybe he just had sunstroke or dehydration?

Trowa laughs again; nice laugh; he has a really nice laugh. Especially when he's saying that the man of my dreams isn't already fixed up. Not that I have the ghost of a chance with him, even if he is, miraculously, in that magic ten per cent, he'll probably want someone classy and sophisticated. Like Quat, who can quote Shakespeare and play sonatas on his violin.

Not someone who can quote Monty Python and Terry Pratchett and play a halfway decent game of basketball. Height isn't everything; if you're small and fast, you can manoeuvre around the tall ones while they're still lumbering to change direction.

'She's not his girlfriend, Duo.' He sounds fairly normal and sane, not like he's being besieged by weird Egyptian warriors or anything like that. He sounds like he knows what he's talking about. I wait, holding my breath, for the magic words.

'She's not his girlfriend because he's gay. And in love with you.'

Dream on, Maxwell.

The magic words just don't materialise.

Still, maybe he just doesn't want to out his buddy to some random co-worker.

'Uh, Trowa, can I get you to hold on for a sec? I've got a friend holding on the other line.'

'That's fine. Just ask Heero to call me back, will you?'

I flick a couple of buttons, gazing longingly at the Heero/Relena picture. I've angled it ever so slightly on his desk so I can see it from where I sit; I don't think he'd ever noticed. She isn't his girlfriend. Ah, the possibilities.

Yeah. Right.

He is still leaving in a couple of weeks.

I'll probably never see him again.

'Hey, Quat? Quat?'

Deafening, tomb-like silence. Either he got bored and hung up, or I'd somehow disconnected him. Or no, I've managed to patch him through to Trowa's line. Before I can call either of them back, Heero walks in.

Ahhhhh.

Heero Yuy, ladies and gentleman. Not all that tall; I think even an inch or so shorter than my not-so-impressive height. But you know what they say about the best things coming in small packages? Not that his package was….never mind. He was gorgeous, full stop.

Hair that looks like it had just been through a vigorous bout of sex, with some lucky guy tangling his fingers in those dark locks, that were the exact colour of my favourite chocolate bar, melted and spooned over ice-cream, spooned over Heero.

Fantasy over. His hair is messy because when he's concentrating on something, he runs his fingers through it.

He usually keeps the body under wraps with tailored suits but he sometimes takes the jacket off if we're alone in the office – just the jacket, sadly – and he has broad shoulders and arms that looked like they can heft steel bars, or a lover's body all the way into the bedroom.

Ahem.

Fantasy, get back in the box. He's talking! And I haven't even mentioned the eyes yet…ooh. They're looking at me.

He's smiling, too, which isn't his most common expression, although he does tend to do it more and more around me. When I was first assigned to hold his hand (figure of speech only, alas; no hands were physically held) and walk him through the intricacies of our mechanics system, I thought he was a total prick. He loosened up (OK, stop with the puns, Duo. Stop now.) after a bit, though, and he'd confided that he'd been pretty nervous at the start and the clothes and the serious expression were just ways to try to cover that up.

Yeah, he's lovely. He's got every damn thing. He can be all manly and commanding (I've seen him face down a couple of mechanics in the factory) and he's got this sensitive, vulnerable side as well.

'Did you have a nice lunch with Relena? Didn't she come back with you?'

He shook his head. 'It was all right.' He hands me a small paper bag. 'I brought you back a sandwich. You always forget to eat lunch.'

Not true; not remotely true. It's just a sneaky ploy to get him to ask me to the canteen with him, or sometimes we just eat sandwiches at our desk and talk. I'll miss that. No one else here ever wants to talk to me.

'Thanks. Trowa called a few minutes ago.' I glance down at my phone…hmm. Those lines are still inter-connected. Interesting. They're talking. Trowa's heading back to France soon. And Sanque is a short 'plane ride to Paris….

'I'll call him back. Duo, Odin wants to talk to you this afternoon. Would you be free around four?'

'Odin? As in, the Norse God? Cool! Isn't he supposed to use ravens as messengers?'

That makes him laugh, like he thinks I'm joking on purpose. My brain is kind of weird though. Maybe I just read too much fantasy.

'Odin Lowe. My stepfather.'

'Oh. Shit. Why does he want to see me, Heero? What've I done wrong? He's not going to fire me, is he?'

'Of course he's not going to fire you! He has a proposition for you.'

'What? He wants to sleep with me? No way! I mean, I'm sure he's a nice guy and all, but he's not my type. Although I'm sure he's very attractive to lots of people but I ….'

'Duo!' I get the feeling that this isn't the first time he's tried to interrupt. Then, he comes over and takes hold of my chin and peers into my eyes. 'Stop babbling. Are you feeling all right? You haven't been eating yellow M and Ms again, have you?'

'No!' Yellow's a sucky colour, when you can have bluuuuuuueee…….Blue's so much prettier. Oh, shit. Don't look into his eyes. He'll see your pupils have dilated or contracted or whatever they do when you're attracted and then he'll know and then he'll…..

Oh.

And then he'll kiss you.

'Oh.' His hair, finally, is messed up because I got my hands on it. And somebody, somewhere, has taught Heero Yuy to kiss like a dream, like a fantasy, like a fucking Norse God.

'Odin doesn't want to sleep with you.' His eyes are all sparkly now; the way Quat's go when he gets a perfect cup of tea, or finds an episode of 'The Gilmore Girls' that he hasn't seen before. 'Luckily. That would complicate things rather a lot.'

'So…you're the one who wants to proposition me?' Yes! God, this is too much for my poor little brain to process.

He nods vigorously.

'YOU want to be with ME?' Just in the nick of time, I manage not to ask him why. It's fairly obvious, at least on the physical level. Somewhere, during that soul-stealing kiss (I hope he's not a zombie!) we ended up in his cool, I'm-going-to-inherit-this-company-one-day swivel chair, with me on his lap and a certain part of his anatomy rather enjoying the fact. Does he just want me for sex? Face it, it's not like a whole lot else can happen in a couple of weeks. And then he'll be gooooone. Forever and ever. So maybe I should just grab what I can. Every square inch….Hmmm. Tempting.

'Until a few minutes ago, I thought you and Relena were a couple.'

'She's not my girlfriend. She's just a friend, and Odin suggested that it might be a bad idea to flaunt my sexuality on this colony.' He sighs, wrapping both arms around me. 'I didn't actually realise she had such a crush on me. That's why she left early; I told her today that nothing was ever going to happen between us.'

'Aww. That was kind of sad for her.' I can just picture them, her sobbing prettily into a wispy lace handkerchief, and Heero being all noble and manly, patting her shoulder and maybe giving her some tissues. Good; at least she's out of the picture.

'Why did you never say anything? We've been working together for months! You did know I was gay, right?'

He nods; well, how could he not? I'd probably been pointed out as the resident queer. He'd probably been warned to keep his back to the wall around me, just in case. All those other executive types resented the hell out of me, for being the one who got to work with Heero. Most of them hadn't been too careful about keeping their opinions to themselves.

'I thought you and your friend Quatre were a couple. You live together, you go out with him all the time; he's always calling you.'

'No! God, no. We're just friends. So, what brought all this on? How'd you figure we weren't together?' I burrow even closer against him. I'm apparently allowed to do this now.

'Your friend Howard said something last week.'

My eyes narrow at him. 'Howard, out of the blue, said 'By the way, Duo and Quatre aren't a couple'?'

'Not exactly.' He bites his lip. Oooh, I want to do that. His lip, not mine, obviously. Just sink my teeth into that soft flesh a little bit and make him moan. No, concentrate. 'We were talking about you. He thinks you're amazing, you know. He was saying how talented you are and that it was a shame you didn't have someone special.'

'Wow. Uh, why didn't you just pounce on me after that?'

'Because it's complicated. I didn't want to start something and then have to leave. Or make things awkward for you at work. Duo, Odin's proposal is to offer you a contract at our plant in Paris. You'll be promoted; we'll still be working together. He thinks we're an excellent team.'

'Me? Paris? With you?'

_Paris_.

'If you like, yes. The alternative would be for me to stay on here until I can convince you to leave. I can do that, if you like. I know you'll have to leave your home and your friends and…'

'I don't need any convincing.' I said it in a rush, just in case he changed his mind. 'I'd love to go! With you. But won't it be awkward if we're a couple, since you're the boss's son and all?'

'Absolutely not. France is a lot more tolerant than L2. And no one will be surprised at me dating a beautiful, brilliant engineer. Jealous, maybe but that's all. Well? Are you going to say yes?'

'I'm not sure. I kind of like the idea of being convinced a little bit more. I mean, this appointment with Mr. Lowe isn't for another couple of hours. I should really have my mind made up when I go into his office.'

Ten per cent. The thing is, the other ninety per cent doesn't matter. Statistics don't mean anything, not really. Just figures on a page.

What matters is the stuff you can't quantify.


	2. Crossed Lines

Note: 'Ten Per Cent' was meant to be a one-shot. Really. Ahem. But I was just a little bit curious about what Trowa and Quatre talked about so…..

Anyway, this is also a belated birthday fic for Wolfje. Happy birthday!

**Crossed Lines:**

'Hey Trowa.' Duo Maxwell's voice floated down the line. 'How's it going? Been attacked by evil killer mummies yet?'

'Not yet, no.' I raised my eyes to the ceiling, watching the fan slowly whirr around. Guess who'd been given the basement, windowless office without air-con? In Cairo, in summer. It had been one of the first indications that my Egyptian colleagues hadn't been overly ecstatic that a foreigner – and a Colonial, to boot- had been appointed to oversee the temporary loan of some of their precious, priceless artefacts to the Louvre Museum in Paris.

There were times when I'd have welcomed a mummy or two, just for the company. An animated one, anyway. I had stacks of the dead sort.

Duo, despite what I'd told him several times, seemed convinced that to be an archaeologist in Egypt was to be living in a Brendan Fraser film.

'Is Heero there?'

'No. He's gone for lunch. With Relena.'

Hum. Possibly my imagination – or wishful thinking on my friend's behalf – but Duo maybe sounded just a little disconsolate about that. But if he hadn't picked up on Heero's interest in him, then he had to be straight as a steel arrow, or dumb as a bag of hammers.

'Ah. The pink princess herself.'

There were plenty of other words I could have called her. Most of them were the sort that are represented by beeps on daytime TV. I'd travelled around a lot; spoke a handful of languages. I knew plenty of curses.

'You have to give her maximum points for trying, though. I mean, flying half way across the galaxy every few months just to see him. You'd think anyone else would have got the message by now that he's not interested in her.'

'What? She's his girlfriend!'

Oh, God. Maybe he was that dense. Heero had sent me photos, surreptitiously snapped from his 'phone, and if you looked like that, maybe you could get away with being as dim as a light-bulb with a wattage in single numbers.

Well, he was dense when it came to relationships, at least. Heero was always maundering about how smart his project partner was. Along with charming, funny, intelligent, practical, resourceful and sexy.

Utterly besotted, poor sap.

'She's not his girlfriend, Duo.'

There, Maxwell. A bone for you. See what you can do with it. I did, for the briefest second, consider tossing a few shreds of marrow.

He's gay.

He likes men.

He likes you.

A lot.

I didn't. Heero had specifically instructed me to do nothing of the sort. He had his reasons, so he claimed. He was the boss's stepson, still a newbie on the L2 plant. The staff were supposed to treat him like any other employee but of course they didn't. Apparently, Duo had been promoted from the factory floor and a lot of his co-workers hadn't taken it too well. Heero didn't want to give them any more mud to sling at his honey.

I'm gay too, if it's not obvious.

I had a pretty good idea what Duo would have to endure if he hooked up with the heir apparent.

'Uh, Trowa, can I get you to hold on for a sec? I've got a friend waiting on the other line.'

'That's fine. Just ask Heero to call me back, will you?'

There were a few clicks and a bit of static and then a strange voice.

'Duo? Duo, are you still there? Because I've been holding for an awfully long time and I'm getting really tired of this piped music.'

'It's crap, isn't it?' I agreed cheerfully. 'Out of all the music in the world, they had to pick this Andrew Lloyd Webber stuff.'

'Ah, excuse me but who is this?' The disembodied voice was a little bit more cautious this time around.

'Trowa Barton. Who are you?'

'You're the archaeologist!' He gasped. 'Aren't you? The one who's working in Egypt? Duo's always talking about you and how exciting your job must be. Honestly, he thinks you're like Indiana Jones or something. I think he's rented the 'Mummy' films a dozen times in the last couple of months, and we're always watching Discovery programmes about Ancient Egypt.'

Oh, I kind of liked the idea of being Indiana Jones. (Every archaeologist does, secretly) The gayer version. Same cool outfit though. Fewer annoying girls to be rescued. And no snakes. I don't like snakes.

'My job's not as exciting as he thinks,' I said regretfully. 'I'm just a glorified librarian stroke logistician, really. I've been seconded here from the Egyptian Department at the Louvre. The museum here is lending us some of their pieces for an exhibition in Paris next month; most of them have never been outside Egypt before so it's a pretty big deal. I've been checking inventory and arranging the transport.'

'Well, I'm sure it's been exciting living in a foreign country for so long,' he said positively. 'And the exhibition sounds wonderful. I'll be back on Earth in three weeks' time. I'll have to go and see it.'

'Give me your name and I'll arrange for you to attend the opening night,' I offered, idly wondering if he was as cute as he sounded. The accent was hard to place; definitely some French intonations but lots of other stuff mixed in, like he'd travelled a lot. Sort of sexy.

'Would you really? That would be fabulous! My name's Quatre Raberba Winner and I'm a friend of Duo's. I was actually holding for him and I think the wires got crossed somehow.'

'And now you're holding me instead.'

There was a moment's deathly silence. Shit. Guess that had been a bit too much.'

'Duo said they're having some problems with the communications system this week,' he said stiffly. 'It's probably better if we hang up now. This call must be costing you a fortune.'

'It's costing the National Museum a fortune, actually. And I'd rather not dial off, if you don't mind. It takes ages to get connected from Earth to L2 and Duo said Heero's due back from lunch any minute. If I lose the connection, it could be gone for hours.'

'I see.'

Oh fuck. Now I'd scared him off.

'So you're a friend of Duo's?' Well, I'd known that already; Heero had spent the past five months angsting about some guy called Quatre whom he was convinced was Duo's boyfriend. He'd found out a week previously that this wasn't the case, and, being Heero, immediately launched his strategy to get Duo for himself. 'He seems like a really nice guy.'

God, I hoped he was. If my best friend was going to all this trouble for him.

'Oh, he is.' The chill factor in Quatre's voice thawed a couple of degrees. 'Meeting him has been the best thing that's happened to me on L2.'

'You're not from there originally?' OK, keep him talking.

'No, I'm from L4.'

L4.

Winner.

Ah.

'You're one of those Winners?'

'I used to be,' he sounded positively cheerful about that. 'Until two years ago when I stepped out of line and got exiled here.'

'Ouch. What did you do? Sign up for the Labour Socialist Party? Start a trade union? Deny the sanctity of the capitalist system?'

'Oh, not quite so bad as those,' he informed me gleefully. 'I would have been ceremonially sacrificed if I'd done anything like that. On my twenty first birthday I informed my family that I was gay. The next day I was on a shuttle to L2. I didn't even have time to pack properly.'

'Again, ouch.' I tried to sound solemn but he obviously didn't have any major hang ups about the whole process.

'Not so much, actually. I've had a splendid time. On Earth, I couldn't do anything, without getting permission from my father or my older sisters, or the senior board members. But no one cares about what happens on L2 so I could do what I liked with the company.'

'Let me guess,' I hazarded, picking up on the pride in his voice. 'You turned a backwards, long lost subsidiary into a success story? What did you do; introduce a corporate song and family picnics?'

'More like employee incentive schemes and discounted share options.' I could hear the smile in his voice. Someone who was good enough at what he did not to mind being teased a little bit. 'And there was the odd social outing along the way. I've had fun.'

'So you're going back to Earth? What happens then; back under Daddy's thumb?'

'Certainly not. That was never an option. I'm going to be based in Sanque for a few months, then heading up our new offices in Paris.'

'Impressive.' And interesting; he was going to be in Paris. My city. 'Where does Duo fit into all of this?'

'He's my best friend. I'm trying to convince him to come to Earth with me.'

'Heero might have better luck,' I muttered, caught off my guard by a sudden little spurt of happiness. We'd both be living in Paris. He liked Egyptian stuff. I'd get to meet him.

'What does that mean?'

'Heero's seriously got the hots for your buddy. But he thought you two were a couple.'

'We're not! Where did he ever get that idea?'

'Let me think.' I couldn't help grinning, remembering Heero's steady build up of evidence that those two were together. I was pretty sure there had been spreadsheets. And maybe pie charts. 'You share a house. You seem to do everything together. Duo talks about you all the time.'

'He's my best friend; that's all. Is Heero really gay?' Quatre asked excitedly. It was kind of sweet that he was so happy for his friend. 'We were sure he was straight. He has a picture of a girl on his desk and everything.'

'That means nothing. Anyway, so do I have a picture of a girl on my desk.'

'Oh.' There was definite disappointment in that one syllable.

Yes!

'Sure.' I gave it another couple of seconds. Timing is everything. 'My big sister Catherine.' I grinned at her photo, imaging what she'd say if she'd heard this exchange.

Something on the lines of how I needed a relationship with someone who hadn't been living in a sarcophagus for the past couple of millennia.

Quatre let that one fall. 'So if Heero is gay and likes Duo, what is he planning to do about it? After all, he's heading back to Earth soon, isn't he? Does he just want a quick fling?'

'No! He's got a plan; when you get to know him, you'll know he always has plans. He wants Duo to go to Paris with him; he's arranging for Duo to get sponsored by Lowe Industries. You can't tell him though, OK? Heero wants to talk to Duo himself first.'

'That's marvellous. And of course I won't say anything.' He sounded practically giddy. 'Oh, I'm so happy! Duo's been so depressed and I was so worried about leaving him here alone.'

'Yeah, it's great.' OK, enough about them. 'So are you still interested in visiting the exhibition? I could maybe meet you beforehand, give you a little private tour if you want.'

Of the exhibition.

Or of me.

Whatever you want. Both if you like.

Ever done it in a sarcophagus?

'I'd really like that.'

Sex in a coffin? Really? Kinky guy.

Oh, no, the exhibition. Rats.

'So I guess we could maybe meet beforehand for a drink or dinner or something, if you want.' He made positive sounds. OK, don't get too excited Barton. Maybe he just fancies a free meal. These people get to be so rich by hoarding the cash. 'How will I know what you look like?'

'You can look at my profile on Facebook. It's an unusual name.'

'Right.' I pulled my laptop over, fingers flickering over keys. Not like I was superficial or anything, but if his looks matched the voice and the sense of humour, then he'd be spectacular. 'How do I spell your middle name?'

'R-A-B-E-R-B-A.'

'OK.'

Wow. Jackpot. I hadn't expected the blond hair or blue eyes; most people from L4 are of Middle Eastern heritage. Just a nice bonus. I glanced over his profile; lots of friends. Interests including music, horse-riding, theatre science fiction and sailing.

Looked like we had a nice match.

'Well?' Just a tiny hint of challenge in his tone; he knew well enough what he looked and was presumably more than aware of the effect it generally had on people.

'Well enough,' I teased. 'I usually go for the dark, hairy type with lots of stubble but I can make do in a pinch. You're lucky I'm not shallow enough to go just for looks.'

There was a choke of laughter at the other end. 'Of course not. I'm sure you select your partners purely on personality.'

'I like someone with a sense of humour,' I told him. 'And shared interests. Long walks in the rain, sunsets on the beach.'

'How very romantic,' Quatre snipped. 'Unfortunately, I _am_ the shallow type. And you currently have the advantage of me.'

Ow. Take that, Barton.

'OK. I'm not on Facebook. I've been friends with Heero for too long and he's totally paranoid about putting that much personal stuff out there. There's a picture on my LiveJounal account. The name is Liontamer03.'

'What happened to the first two lion-tamers?' he quipped. 'Did they get eaten?'

'One can only assume so.'

Another silence while he presumably checked me out. The virtual me. The profile picture was one Cathy had taken at Christmas when she visited; me leaning against a palm tree at an oasis outside Cairo. Pretty damn flattering actually.

'Good lord. You actually make khaki shorts look sexy. I hadn't realised that was humanly possible.'

'I look even sexier out of them,' I bragged, and he started to laugh.

'Perhaps just dinner to start? I'm flying back to Sanque on the twelfth, but Paris is only a short flight.'

'Let me check.' I clicked on the Air France Website, feeling we could be doing quite a lot of to-ing and fro-ing until he settled in Paris. 'Forty five minutes. Six flights a day. You like Moroccan food,?'

'I love it.'

'I know a great restaurant a couple of blocks from where I live. If you're interested?'

'I could be. I always like trying new places to eat.'

'Quatre. Are you going to make me beg?'

He trilled with laughter. 'At some point, quite possibly. There are a couple of things I need to know first. For a start, do you have a picture of a guy on your desk?'

'I have a sculpture. Does that count? Of course he is a Pharaoh who's been dead for a pretty long time so he's not much competition. Fair enough?'

'I can live with that.'

'Next question.'

'I'm not into one night stands. I did the bar trawling thing for a while when I first got here and it's not for me. Just so you know.'

'Are you kidding me? Seriously, you think I'd want only one night with you? No way! Actually,' I added virtuously, 'I'm not used to pushy guys discussing sex after I've only spoken to them for fifteen minutes or so. I think you're maybe more of a player than I am.'

He choked with laughter at that. 'I'm honestly not any sort of a player. I'm actually quite shy in person.'

'You don't have to be, with me.'

'No,' he agreed softly. 'Apparently not. So dinner to start off and see where it goes? I assume you are officially asking me out?'

'Yes. Quatre Winner, will you please come and have dinner with me next month on the other side of the galaxy?'

'I'd love to.'


	3. Across the Universe

Disclaimer: I don't own the GW characters, nor do I make any money from writing.

Note: As someone quite rightly remarked, my definition of the word 'one shot' is a little on the hazy side. Oh, well. Thanks, as always, to KS, for editing.

**Across the Universe: **

Two hours to go. I glance at my watch and find five minutes – _cinq minutes_ – have passed since the last time. Time is obviously on a go slow.

Quatre, who's seated beside me, has fallen asleep. Asleep! We are hurtling through space at a zillion miles an hour or something and my best friend is snoring gently.

Of course, he's been on space shuttles plenty of times. It's all old hat for him. For me, it's stunningly new. A new _beret_, heh heh!

I tried to tone down my enthusiasm a little bit after he said how 'cute' it was, but come on! It's a shuttle. To Earth. My first time ever to fly! How is that not cool? Thanks to Quat, we're travelling first class. According to him, it's not even costing any extra; he's just using up Frequent Flyer miles or something like that to get an upgrade.

I tried to protest that I shouldn't be using up the perks on his account, but that was before I'd actually seen the First Class cabin. We've got proper reclining chairs and fleecy blankets and pillows and our own individual TV monitors with seventy gazillion channels. And you can eat and drink all you want. Quat says you're not meant to take that as a personal challenge, so I've been fairly restrained.

Well, sort of. I take the menu of the little pocket by the side of my chair and flick through it. Maybe just a soda or something and some cashew nuts or chocolate? Just a little snack.

The stewardess is by my side in an instant; a side benefit of travelling with Quatre Winner. It's a bit like that when I go out with Heero too. People know who he is and leap to attention.

Or maybe it's just the fact that he's obviously used to getting that sort of service; that uber-sexy commanding air of his.

OK, Duo. Just breathe. You'll be seeing him really, really soon. Two hours minus fifteen.

Life can change pretty fast.

Four weeks ago, I'd been looking at the universe through crap-coloured glasses; now it's sunshine and blue skies all the way.

Probably.

I have a new boyfriend, a new job, a new home. And my best friend has arranged to postpone his flight home so we can leave L2 together. He's getting a direct flight from Paris to Sanque as soon as we land, but it still means I have company on my first ever spaceflight.

Packing up the house we'd shared for two years had been sort of sad; we'd had a lot of fun living together. I had to keep reminding myself that he'd only be a short flight away for a month or so, before moving to France himself.

So here I am. Hurtling across the galaxy to a whole new existence, with all my worldly goods either stowed away in the hold, or stashed under the seat in my little backpack.

The stuffed frog sitting on the arm of my chair was a leaving gift from Hilde and Howard. They'd taken me out for lunch on my last day, and given me cards and the gift. I'd looked up _frog_ in my new French dictionary; it was _Grenouille_ so that was what I'd called him. _Monsieur Grenouille._

I hadn't had any sort of official leaving party. First off, no one would probably have come. If they had, it wouldn't have been with the intention of wishing me well.

No way.

I'd heard plenty of comments in my last few weeks, about how that slut Maxwell had got his promotion; about the sort of things I'd undoubtedly done to get it. Most of them weren't even anatomically possible. At least, I didn't think so. I sort of hoped not.

They'd at least been subtle while Heero was still around. He'd been called back to Earth a couple of weeks earlier to work on a new project with Mr. Lowe, whom I'm supposed to call Odin now.

Yeah, I can't really see that happening any time soon. Not that he hasn't been perfectly pleasant to me on the two occasions when we've actually spoken to each other, but he seemed far like a _Mr. Lowe_ than an _Odin_.

Not like _Odin_ isn't a damn intimidating name in its own right. Maybe a bit less so that _Zeus_, but still way up there.

Anyway.

I guess I'll try to get used to it, because it's what Heero wants.

And at least he seems to like me. having spent the past couple of years working in a fairly hostile environment, it was a relief to meet someone who was even moderately friendly.

The last ten or so days of work hadn't been pleasant. I really hoped it was all going to work out with Heero and France. I'd pretty much burnt my bridges on L2.

I don't have Heero's IT skills – he's quite extraordinarily skilful in all sorts of fun ways - but I'm a semi-decent hacker. Most people at work have the most unimaginative passwords ever. I'd spent my last couple of hours at Lowe Industries (L2) having a little bit of fun with certain people's email accounts.

I definitely won't be going back there to work.

Along with the dictionary and the frog, my bag holds a well-thumbed copy of _The Rough Guide to France,_ a short history of Paris, and a little notebook and pencil for new words. Quat has been giving me some basic French lessons, although according to Heero business at Lowe Industries is mostly conducted in English.

Still, I want to have an idea what is going on around me.

Oh, God.

Admit it, I haven't a clue what's going on with any of this. I'm leaving everything I've ever known to cross the universe just because Heero's going to be waiting for me. And, yeah, there's the new job and all, but I'm pretty sure none of that would have happened without Heero pulling a few strings in the background.

Really, it's all about him.

I've worked with Heero Yuy for almost six months. He's very good at getting what he wants. Fortunately, top of the list is currently me.

Beside me, Quatre stirs in his seat, stretching.

'Hey.' I grin at him. 'Welcome back.'

'I wasn't really asleep.' Quatre shoves one hand through his tousled hair. 'Are we there yet?'

'Nope. Still nearly two hours to go.'

_Deux heures._ And then there'll be all sorts of immigration formalities to go through. I won't get to see Heero for ages.

Quatre dives into his pocket for his cell phone which has just beeped. A smile and a big sappy sigh later and he's busily keying in a reply.

'Is that from Trowa?'

Well, duh. Of course it is.

It's been Trowa, non stop, ever since they first met. Erm, talked. Sometimes, I haven't even been able to get a word in about Heero. They are so perfect for each other, those two, albeit in a slightly geeky freaky way. Like last week, they spent a ridiculous amount of time capping each other's Douglas Adam's references. And they can get hours of entertainment discussing every single note in a piece of classical music.

Lucky they found each other, really. There can't be too many guys in the universe who'd be turned on by stuff like that.

Quatre nods, smiling again at what Trowa has written, and I notice his hand shakes, very slightly, as he returns the 'phone to his pocket.

I keep forgetting this is a pretty big deal for him too.

The first time to see his family in two years. I'm not sure if he's exactly going to be getting the red carpet and the fatted calf. He's adamant that he's returning on his own terms, but his family aren't exactly going to be ecstatic over their only son having blown up the closet after walking out of it. He spent a few years pretending when he was a teenager; even went on a few dates with suitable girls that his parents liked, just to keep them happy. That won't be happening any more.

There's Trowa in the equation for him now.

'Quat, are you nervous at all?'

'Oh, gosh no. I'm excited obviously, and a little apprehensive, which is perfectly natural, but, not _nervous_.' His bright smile wilts suddenly as he turns to look at me. 'Oh, God, Duo, I'm _terrified_. Maybe I'm making a huge mistake. Maybe I should've just stayed on L2. I'm going back to live at home, for heaven's sake. It's like going back to my childhood. My mother will expect me to be on time for meals, and to eat all my vegetables, and Father will want to know exactly what I'm doing every minute of every day. It's going to be appalling.'

'It's just for a few weeks, though,' I say encouragingly. 'Just while you sort out a place to live in Paris, and get brought up to speed on the stuff you'll be working on. It can't be that bad. Besides, you're lucky, you know. At least you're not going to be with total strangers.'

It's odd; I'm used to Quatre being this totally in-charge, confident person. (Except when it comes to guys.) It's kind of hard to imagine him going back and being the youngest kid of a huge family.

'I'd love to be going to live with total strangers,' he informs me fervently. 'I'd _love_ it.'

'Well, maybe we could swap. You haven't been home in a couple of years. They might've forgotten what you look like.'

'Oh, I think Heero might notice the difference.' He gives me an arch little smile, and then his face sags again. 'And my mother will be trying to fix me up with all her friends' daughters, in the hope that it will 'cure' me, and my father will probably give me bracing lectures on 'manliness' and it's just going to be horrible.'

'No, it's not. It's just something you're going to have to put it up with for less than a month. You can do that.'

'Without slaughtering my whole family?'

'I have total faith in your non-slaughtering abilities. You're a pacifist, remember?'

'Perhaps I should have it tattooed on my hands so I do remember.' He picks up my little frog, turning it over in his hands.

'You'll be fine. You can call me whenever you want, and you've got Trowa to look forward to. If you talk about him non-stop, they might get the message that you're actually G-A-Y and it's an incurable condition.'

That produces the faintest of smiles, as one finger strokes my little frog's head. _La tete de ma grenouille,_ in other words. 'Duo, what if Trowa doesn't like me when we finally meet?'

'Oh, come on! He's already crazy about you, just from talking on the 'phone and sending emails. How is he not going to fall head over heels for you, the minute he sees you?'

I try to sound as positive as I can. Really, I can see why he's so worried about all this. Trowa Barton has pretty much become the centre of his world lately and according to Heero, it's totally mutual. But, still, they've never actually met.

I'd be freaking out too.

At least, I've met Heero. Granted, we haven't had much time together, but we managed to have a few dates before he had to fly Earthside.

Right from the start, he was adamant that there was going to be a – courtship, I guess. No jumping into bed right from the word go.

He's perfect.

Right?

I mean, it's good that he wants to wait, and for us to get to know each other better and not just leap on each other.

Of course, it's good. It's caring and considerate and sweet and frustrating as hell.

No. No, scratch the last one. It's really good that I have a boyfriend who wants more than just sex; who appreciates my wit and humour and imagination.

Isn't it?

I mean, he does want to have sex with me at some stage, doesn't he?

'I hope so!' Quatre says fervently. It's nice that Q is so involved on my behalf. Oops. Yeah, we were talking about Trowa. Focus, Duo. 'I know it's stupid, but I'm so bad at picking guys normally.'

That's true. For a smart, astute type, he's thick as the wall when it comes to finding boyfriends. It doesn't help that he's rich and a soft touch. Not physically – well, actually I don't know about that; I guess Trowa will be discovering that in a while – but he's a sucker for hard luck stories. Guys tend to take advantage of that.

'You didn't pick Trowa,' I say firmly. 'You found him totally by accident and he sounds great. He's got a cool job, he's smart, he hasn't stung you for a loan yet. I mean, he's way ahead on points so far over pretty much every guy you've ever dated since I met you.'

'That's true,' he admits.

'And his best friend is Heero, so he has great taste!' I wink at him. 'Like that's not obvious already. Seriously, he is going to adore you. I promise. You know, if it's any help at all, I'm nervous as hell too,' I confess and he stares at me.

'You don't have to be. You _know_ Heero. You've worked with him for months.'

'I know him as the guy I worked with,' I say slowly. In one way, it's a relief to actually get all this off my chest. The past couple of weeks have been manic for both of us; we haven't really sat down and talked about how our lives are changing. In another way, verbalising it makes it into a real issue, stops me trying to convince myself I've landed in this fairytale romance.

'And yeah, we got on really well, but he was just a colleague, even I wanted to jump him like crazy. Or for him to jump on me. I wasn't that fussed which. It's a whole other ball game now. Oops, no pun intended. Then we had a couple of weeks dating, but there's still loads of stuff I don't know about him and he's the only person I know in France, and he's arranged for all of this so I seriously owe him. I'm going to be turning up at this new job as Odin's stepson's boyfriend. Everyone's going to think I'm only there because he's screwing me.'

'Duo, shhh. It's not like that.'

Oh, God. I haven't even realised my voice has been steadily rising.

'Quat, be realistic. There are dozens of other people at the L2 plant who are way, way more qualified than me for the transfer. People with all kinds of degrees and years of experience.'

'And what do you think happened? That Heero asked his step-father to give the job to you because you're his boyfriend?'

'Yeah. _Oui_.' I hadn't really framed it like that but that was pretty much what I did think. 'God knows, it's what every other person on L2 thinks.'

'You shouldn't listen to spiteful, mean-spirited people like that! They're just jealous of you.'

'I guess.' OK, Howard and Hilde had been great, but everyone else, even people I'd thought liked me, had treated me like a pariah since my new job was announced. I'd have been happy for someone else; for someone to get a wonderful opportunity. Hell, I'd tried so hard to be happy for Quat when he said he was going back to Earth, even though it had really hurt.

'It's true!' Quatre said firmly. 'Anyway, of course it didn't happen like that. Yes, it is _possible_ that Heero suggested you as a likely candidate, but Mr. Lowe obviously had a high opinion of you anyway since you were the one he picked to partner Heero in the first place.'

Yeah.

Partner Heero.

Oh, stop dreaming Duo. He's still talking! Listen to the smart blond. He knows about this stuff.

'Anyway,' Quatre continues briskly, like he's ticking items off in his head; I sometimes wonder if his thoughts are organised into bullet points, 'you were short-listed for the post a couple of days before Heero told you how he felt about you. Let alone started dating you.'

'I know all that, Quat. It just seems – awfully like Heero planned it all. That I only got the job 'cause of him.'

'Oh, balderdash!'

Wow, cool word.

'Firstly, Odin Lowe hasn't built up a global company by nepotism.'

I look totally blank.

Only a _possibly_ cool word. Nepotism sounds sort of kinky. And like demons are involved. Sex with demons. Ugh.

'It means hiring people because you're somehow connected to them, not because they're qualified for the job. He wouldn't have been able to do that for you, if he wanted to. Immigration to France is very strictly controlled; visas are only given to candidates in exceptional circumstances and you obviously qualify. If you hadn't met the criteria, you'd have been refused and Lowe Industries would have been fined for putting forward an ineligible candidate and wasting time.

'Secondly,' he makes a little hand gesture like he's tapping a clipboard, 'He may, just possibly, have been able to circumvent L2 emigration policy by bribing the relevant officials.'

He's being very polite here; everyone knows that L2 bureaucracy is totally corrupt.

'But there's no way he could have influenced the Department of Foreign Affairs in Paris.'

'OK, OK,' I smile at him gratefully. _D'accord_. God, everyone should have a Quatre in their lives. If Trowa dares to hurt him, ever, I'll…well, I don't know what I'll do but it'll be something seriously awful.

'So stop worrying,' my wonderful best friend says firmly. 'You got the job on merit, and people will know that. It's not going to be like L2. I'm sure you'll make dozens of new friends. Duo,' he hesitates for a moment. 'When you said you thought you owed Heero, what exactly did you mean? Do you think he'll want….ah, certain favours in return?'

'No! He's not like that. I just, I don't know, want us to have an equal relationship. Or at least as equal as it can be. I mean, he's rich and gorgeous and educated, and totally amazing.'

'You're all those things too!' Quatre butts in. 'Oh, OK, maybe not rich, but that's just until you patent one of your inventions and make a fortune. That company should be thanking their lucky stars you work for them and not the competition. And Heero's the one who owes _you_, if anything. You're moving all the way across the galaxy to be with him. He'd better treat you like a king.'

'He does.' I can feel my mouth curve into a smile, and my cheeks colour slightly, at the memory of how Heero treats me. And that's even _without_ the sex being had. 'Quat, can you come and work for me as my own personal cheerleader? Please?'

'Of course I can. Right after my family disowns me again, I'll be looking for a new job.'

'You stop that! It sounds to me like your father's actually starting to appreciate you for the first time, since you stood up to him. No way is he going to let a genius like you walk off to work for someone else!' I tip him a deliberate wink. 'Besides, I'm sure Trowa will offer you a position, heh heh, as his personal sex slave.'

'That would be fantastic!' Quatre looks radiant at the thought. Lucky Trowa.

'Another thing, Q. We haven't really talked about …. You know.'

Rather than saying the word, I make a circle with my left thumb and forefinger and stick my right finger through.

It's Quat's turn to look clueless and I make the gesture again.

'Oh! OH! Let me guess. Don't tell me! You haven't talked about finger puppetry?'

God, I sometimes wonder what planet he's actually from. Guess they didn't teach Obscene Gestures 101 at his boarding school.

'Sex, Quat.' I lower my voice.

_Faire amour. Coucher avec Heero. _Not if I get my way, that there will be much _couchering_ going on.

'Oh, SEX!'

Heads instantly turn to look at us.

'What haven't you talked about?'

I swallow. This is going to be hard. Hard. Heero all hard and wanting me…..No. Difficult. _Difficile_.'Ah, the time frame,' I say delicately.

Quatre's brow wrinkles as he thinks about that. 'Do you mean, um, the time it takes to reach orgasm? Because I don't think there really is a ….'

'_No_!' OK, had to stop him before he started talking about his personal best. Worst. Whatever. 'Just that we haven't – you know – done it yet.'

Hadn't done much of anything really. We'd had a couple of nice meals out and a night at the movies and one evening he'd cooked dinner for me at his place. That was the night I'd thought we'd end up in bed, and he'd explained that he wanted to take things all slowly and stuff.

'Do you really think he's going to jump on top of you the second we land?'

'No. Although I might jump on him if he doesn't move fast enough! I just don't want him to think that I'm this sex maniac.'

'He'll probably love having a boyfriend who's a sex maniac,' Quatre grins. 'Um, Duo, I'm sorry, but I don't quite understand what you mean about the time frame.'

'Just, you know, how long should we wait before doing it? I mean, you've met Heero; he probably has it all planned out on a spreadsheet, and he keeps saying that he wants to wait and for us to be friends.'

'Oh, that's so lovely!' Quatre breathes, the words floating out of his mouth in a pink, heart-shaped balloon.

Sure it is. Lovely if you're not the one being deprived of the chance of sleeping with the hottest guy in the known universe. No chance that Q will ever have that problem; I bet Trowa will drag him off to bed by the hair the minute they set eyes on each other.

'Yeah, yeah. I get the loveliness of it all. But I don't want to have to wait! Come on, it's not like we're total strangers. Like you said, we've known each other for months.'

My friend rolls his pretty blue eyes. 'Duo, have you actually said any of this to Heero?'

'Um.'

OK, that would be a no. I tried _showing_ him a couple of times that I really didn't want to do the waiting thing but the guy has a scary level of willpower. Or maybe he just doesn't want me all that much.

'Not exactly.' I nibble the end of my braid uncertainly until Quatre takes it out of my mouth. 'I don't want him thinking I'm this shallow, slutty guy who's only after his body. I just really want to be with him, like that. You know?'

He nods fervently, his face taking on that lovesick puppy expression that gets brought out whenever Trowa –anything vaguely to do with Trowa – gets mentioned. Hmmm. Maybe he'll be the one hauling Trowa off to bed.

'Duo,' Quatre says gently. 'You're being an idiot. Tell Heero exactly what you just told me and I swear, he'll sweep off to bed so fast you'll think you're still in orbit.'

Oooh, that would be nice.

'You think?'

'I _know_. God, I've seen the two of you together. He's crazy about you. And he's probably scared that you'll think he's a shallow slutty guy who's only after your body if he makes advances.'

'I'd _love_ him to make advances!'

And then love, and breakfast in bed, then the actual bed 'cause we'll need to change the sheets at some point, and then love, sweet love, again and…..

'Well, you're going to have to say so,' Quatre informs me, all brisk again. 'He's a wonderful person, and he knows how much your life is changing right now. He probably doesn't want to rush you into anything, or put you under any pressure. You just need to have a little talk with him and everything will be fine.'

He glows happily. I swear, the guy actually gets off on finding solutions to other people's problems.

I'm beaming back, running over conversations with Heero in my head. I guess Quat's right; he usually is. Heero, my darling, amazing, incredible boyfriend has been pretty adamant that he wants to take things slowly. Duh, Duo. He was doing it for my sake all along.

'I'm stupid sometimes, aren't I?'

Quat grins. 'Yes. It's lucky you can trade on your lucks or you'd never get anywhere!'

'Heh, once my looks get me into Heero's bed, PDQ, I'll be happy,' I retort.

I can do this. I can talk to him about all this. And, just in case, I can resort to extreme body language, in case he's all hung up on waiting until he's ticked off so many dates on his hypothetical spreadsheet. Who knows? Maybe it does exist; he loves columns of definite data. Loves them.

But, sometimes, things just feel right. Like you can measure out days and weeks, but not how you feel about another person, even if you haven't dated them for all that long. Sometimes, the quantity of time just isn't all that important.

Now, I just need to convince him of that.

Should be fun…..


	4. Cross My Heart

Disclaimer: The GW boys do not belong to me.

Note: Many thanks, as per usual, to Kaeru Shisho. Best wishes to Dyna, on her birthday.

**Cross My Heart:**

_(Heero's POV)_

He's late.

His shuttle landed fifty seven minutes ago, according to my watch which, unlike the wall clocks at the port, is accurate.

So where is he?

Not here, that's where. Damnation. Flipping my 'phone open, I speed dial 03.

'What is it this time?' my friend, half a world away, asks wearily.

'It's Duo. His shuttle landed almost an hour ago, and he still isn't here.'

'Yuy.' Trowa says it around a massive yawn. 'It's his first time to visit Earth, right? Immigration takes forever. And there's probably a massive queue. He'll be there soon. Stop freaking out because he's a bit late.'

'An hour!'

'You've got nothing to be nervous about. You've been dating him for weeks. You've _met_ him, for fuck's sake. That puts you way ahead of me. Quatre might take one look at me and decide he never wants to be in the same room as me, let alone date me.'

Quatre.

It always comes back to him somehow.

'I doubt that,' I try to sound reassuring. 'He sounds positively smitten.'

'Yeah, with a voice on the 'phone, and a couple of photographs he's seen. He mightn't be so keen once he actually meets me.'

'He's crazy about you. Duo says so. And you have it easy, Barton. He's coming to live in Paris anyway; Duo's moving halfway across the world to be with me. What if he hates it here? What if I don't make him happy? Oh, God.' I let my head slump forward on to my knees.

I should have stuck to my original plan. Deviation from carefully laid out, painstakingly constructed strategies is always a bad idea.

Since meeting Duo Maxwell, I've been doing it more and more.

I'd known he was gay since before we'd even met, courtesy of several of the managers of the L2 plant, who'd gone out of their way to inform me that Odin had selected 'that queer, Maxwell' to partner me on a project. They'd also assured me that if Maxwell made one objectionable comment to me, put one foot out of line, he'd be fired so fast he'd go straight into orbit.

It took me a couple of weeks to realise that Duo had probably been given that information as well; it took him that long to start acting naturally around me.

Duo's being gay had never been a problem. The problem was that I'd been so sure he had a boyfriend. The screensaver on his computer was of him and a very attractive blond man.

When I'd asked, Duo had just said that Quatre was his 'friend', and I'd assumed that meant boyfriend. They lived together. Most of Duo's evening or weekend plans involved Quatre, somehow or other. They were always planning to go to a movie, or a new restaurant, or listen to a live band somewhere.

Duo had asked me along, a couple of times, once we'd started to become friendly. I'm not that much of a masochist. I got to work with him five days a week, sometimes Saturdays if we were busy.

That was enough, without tagging along on his outings with Quatre, seeing them together.

Finding out, finally, that Duo was single had been a revelation; an epiphany. I'd never allowed myself, really, to admit how I felt about him. It would have been wrong; that acknowledgment. He wasn't mine; I wasn't allowed to feel anything.

Even I did.

Once I knew the truth, I could start making plans. All promising employees of Lowe Enterprises in the Colonies had the chance to spend time on Earth. Duo was about as promising as they came. He was brilliant, enterprising, resourceful, with a rare combination of mechanical know-how and computer skills. That he hadn't already been offered a post on Earth was downright insulting and I'd made sure that his credentials landed on Odin's desk, the day after my little conversation with Duo's friend Howard.

Phase one of my mission activated.

It had all gone – awry, after that. Not wrong – dear Gods, no; Duo had _kissed_ me! – but not according to plan.

I hadn't meant to tell him about how I felt, not at the beginning. It hadn't seemed fair. If Duo were to leave his home and friends, I wanted him to make the decision purely on its own merits.

It had seemed like a logical, even praiseworthy, scheme. He had to be very sure what he wanted; not influenced by the sudden entry of a new factor into the equation. Making a declaration of love, out of the blue, wasn't fair to him.

He didn't know I was gay. He didn't know how I felt about him. He might feel some sort of pressure to comply, given that my stepfather was his boss. He might even have felt it was trying to exert influence on him. There might be no attraction whatsoever on his part. He might, perfectly naturally, have decided he didn't need romantic entanglements when he was already contemplating such a massive change in his life.

So the plan had been to say nothing. Once he got to Paris, and settled in a little, that would be different. I could start to…woo him. Trowa laughed like a drain when I used that term. I still can't see why. It seems like the perfect term. The dictionary definitions of the word all match exactly to how I feel about him. I want to seek his favour, affections, and love. I want to win him.

It hasn't stopped Trowa, over the past few weeks making increasingly annoying references to my 'wooing Duo'. He's such an idiot sometimes; an Indiana Jones Wannabee with a fixation on Duo's best friend.

My Duo, who will very shortly be stepping out of the Customs Area and into my world.

The plan both failed and succeeded magnificently.

I'm still not entirely sure what happened, despite having replayed the scene in my head many times. I told him that Odin had asked to see him, and I think he was a little nervous to be summoned into the CEO's presence, because he started babbling about ravens and ancient deities but his eyes were fixed on mine, and I'd suddenly realised.

He had feelings for me.

Duo teases me about that now, saying that his feeling for me had been dancing around his head in giant neon letters since the day we'd first met.

I sometimes think I don't have a very high level of emotional intelligence. Trowa laughs when I say that too, so maybe it's not true.

According to Duo, he's been in love with me from the start, and that if I hadn't been as thick as mince (a phrase I had to google), I'd have seen it the first time we'd met.

After that, it was all velvet. Another Duoism. There has been kissing and declarations and some dating, and now he is in Paris, assuming he ever gets through customs.

'Heero,' my best friend says softly and I realise I've forgotten all about him. 'Stop stressing about this, OK? He's mad about you. Quatre says you're all he talks about; _Heero this, Heero that, Heero's a walking sex god_…'

'Duo _said_ that?' I blurt before I can stop the words. 'Oh, God, Trowa, I have to go. There are people starting to come out.'

I've imagined the first moment I see him so many times. It's probably influenced by those awful Hollywood romances Relana insists on dragging me to, with soft music playing in the background as he rushes into my arms.

That's not how it happens. I don't even see him at first; he's following a group of backpackers, looking down as he juggles his bags and a sheaf of paperwork and a small stuffed frog. Then he looks up, eyes searching the crowd for me, and smiles.

He looks tired; no surprise after such a long flight. Tired and apprehensive and very unsure.

'Heero. Hey. Thanks for coming to meet me.'

'Hello. I like the frog.'

'Cute, huh?' He waves it in my face. 'Goodbye gift from Howie and Hilde. They got me one of those floppy hats too. A beret. But I didn't know if people here actually wore them or I'd look really stupid. Wow! This is really France! I can't believe I'm here.'

'Nor I,' I tell him softly. I want, so desperately to touch him but he's grown up on a colony where that sort of display between men is not a good idea. I'm not sure how he'll react if I reach out now.

'It's …. really good to see you, Heero,' he ventures finally.

'For me too. To see you. Obviously. God, sorry. I'm babbling.'

'You're nervous too.' He says it like it's the greatest miracle imaginable. As if I'm not utterly terrified by all of this; by the fact that this beautiful, vivid, captivating person is suddenly in my world.

'Of course.'

'Oh, hey. It's OK. I'm shit scared as well.' He, in the end, is the one who touches me; just a hand on my left arm, and somehow that catapults us both into a hug.

He is really, truly _here_. Warm and solid and real and in my arms.

'Is this all right?'

He lifts his face from my shoulder. He's blushing but his smile is a glorious thing. 'It's great. Really. I've been looking forward to this ever since I got on the shuttle. Ever since you left, actually.'

'Me too. I am _so_ glad you're here.' I move to kiss him, just a quick peck on the lips, and he jerks back. 'Sorry. God, I'm sorry.'

'No, don't be,' he assures me hastily. 'It's just, you know. Not used to doing this sort of thing in public. Take me somewhere a bit more private and you can do that all night.'

'Right.' I relieve him of a couple of bags, tangling one hand with his in the process. 'Can I do this?'

'Yeah. I guess. It's nice.' He's smiling now, as I lead him through the crowded Arrivals Area. I've made up my mind where to take him. I don't want to leave him in some anonymous hotel room on his first night. I'm taking him home.

Duo does most of the talking as we walk to my car; the flight, his farewell lunch with his friends Howard and Hilde; all the sights he wants to see in Paris.

'I can't wait to take you sightseeing,' I promise, piling his bags on the back seat and opening the passenger door for him.

'Nice car,' he approves, settling in comfortably, and grinning over at me. 'Tinted windows and all. I guess this counts as a private place. You think?'

'Oh, yes.'

Kissing Duo, feeling his lips dance against mine, I can't even remember why I was so nervous about seeing him again. In truth, I can't remember much of anything, especially not when he scrambles into my lap, and his hands start to move down my body.

'Duo,' I manage finally. Speech is not an easy thing; not right now. My hands are twisted in all that incredible hair, somehow loose and flowing over both of us with the little elastic tie flicked on to the floor; his are stroking between my legs, each touch a swift surge of pleasure that is never quite enough. 'Please…please stop doing that.'

'Oh!' He is back in his own seat in a sudden blur of hair and crimson-cheeked mortification. 'Fuck, Heero, I'm so sorry. I never meant …I'm sorry, OK?'

'No. No, I liked it, I liked it a lot. Really. I just don't want our first time to be…like this.' I hold his gaze, trying to make him understand and exhale when he finally nods.

'Yeah. You're right. Too rushed and all. I guess I just got carried away.' He tosses his head, all that hair tumbling over his shoulders. God, he's so beautiful. 'You sort of have that effect on me, y'know?'

'I feel the same.' I reach over, capturing one of his hands and tracing the lines on his palm.

'You do?' He blinks through the thicket of hair that's hanging over his face. 'For real? You always seem so damn in control all the time; I was wondering if you really did want me…like that.'

'I want you.' I've always tried to be so gentle with him, letting him set the pace, giving him time to say if he's uncomfortable with anything I do. And he thought it meant I wasn't interested. An impression I plan to correct immediately. He actually squeaks when I haul him back on top of me, and then my mouth is over his.

'I want you,' I repeat firmly, touching those swollen lips with one finger.

'I guess you do.'

I can't even begin to catalogue the emotions darting over his face; desire and need and affection and a hint of shyness. That's new; he's usually been the one to initiate physical contact. I know he's had other lovers; in fact, he's probably the more experienced of us both.

'Was that too much?'

'Hell, no!' he denies swiftly. 'Sort of…unexpected, maybe. But good. You're the one who wanted to take things slowly.'

'Not exactly.' I give him another, much less demanding kiss, and let him slide back into his own seat. 'I just didn't want to pressure you into anything, not until we knew each other better. And you told me you're nervous too.'

'Not about the sex,' Duo gives me the gift of one of his glowing smiles. 'All the other stuff. You know. Fitting into each other's lives. I guess we still don't know each other all that well, do we?'

'I want to get to know you,' I say, just a little tentatively, and he nods, squeezing my hand.

Driving Duo through the streets of Paris is every bit as pleasurable as I imagined it would be. More so, in fact, because he has one hand on my thigh, and every so often I can reach down and squeeze his fingers. As I'd expected, he is utterly enraptured by everything; letting me rediscover my city's beauty through his eyes. He comments on things I haven't even noticed; an elderly couple strolling hand in hand, the first spring buds unfurling on chestnut trees; a tiny gargoyle hunched over the roof of a building.

'Not a hotel then?' He questions when I pull up outside my apartment block.

'No. Home. Is this all right? I can take you to your hotel to sleep later, but I wanted to show you where I live first.'

'I'd really like that.' I've shown him a couple of photos, but he still exclaims over the high ceilings, the tall sash windows, the fireplace; the view of the city.

'How did you ever cope with leaving all this to live on a hole like L2?' He demands, turning from the window.

'I'd only lived here for a few months before I moved.' Wufei and Zechs had been with me the first day I'd seen this apartment. Listening to them rave about the view, and the floor space, and the Art Deco features, it had been easy to imagine living here. Later, when I'd moved in alone, the place had seemed ridiculously big for one person.

It will be perfect, now that Duo is here. I smile at him, and then tug him into my arms. 'Also, there were certain consolations on L2.'

'Huh.' His pouting lower lip is an invitation to another kiss. 'I'd better damn well have been the only consolation.'

'There was one consolation on L2,' I echo obediently. 'But he did make it worthwhile.' It suddenly occurs to me that I am being an atrocious host. Duo has crossed the universe to be here; I haven't even offered him a drink.

He just laughs when I start to apologise. 'What I'd love would be a shower, if that's OK? And to change clothes.'

'Of course. Aren't you hungry?'

'They fed us pretty well on the shuttle actually. Maybe just a sandwich or something?'

I can hear the shower running as I head into the kitchen. Duo's absurd frog is perched on the corner of an armchair; he's dropped his rucksack by the side of my bed. His jacket is slung over the chair in the hall. All tiny, tangible reminders that he's here.

Of course, he hasn't said that he wants to stay the night. Perhaps he would, after all, prefer a hotel for his first few days. He might decide he needs a little personal space; some room to think.

I won't be disappointed if that's what he wants, I tell myself sternly. I have to understand how new all of this is for him. A new city, a new life; a new boyfriend. Anyone would need some time to adjust to it all.

Even though he's claiming not to be hungry, I prepare a meal for him. It's oddly soothing, going through the motions of tossing greens for salad, whisking eggs for an omelette, slicing a baguette.

It's nice, doing all this for someone other than myself.

Duo's hair is still slightly damp when he emerges, pulled back into a ponytail instead of the usual braid. He's changed into a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants; surely the least provocative clothing in the universe. The pants just sit on his hips, though, and the t-shirt is threadbare cotton, worn through in places just enough to show a hint of skin.

'Mr. Domesticated,' he teases, taking a place at the kitchen table, and accepting the glass of white wine I pass him.

'I've cooked dinner for you before.' I pour the egg mixture into the pan, tilting it carefully.

'Well, yeah.' His eyes are bright, glancing everywhere around my kitchen, alighting here and there when something catches his interest. The tacky fridge magnets Trowa has sent me from the places he's been to; the framed photograph of Wufei and I, graduating from the Sorbonne; the pair of Japanese watercolours that my mother had painted.

'But that was a kind of showing-off-for-your-new-boyfriend thing. This is just you, in your kitchen.'

'Do you like that; just me in my kitchen?'

I carefully divide the omelette in two, sliding the halves on to two plates, and carrying them to the table.

I like having Duo like this, relaxed and sipping wine in my home, one foot curled beneath him on the chair, little damp tendrils of hair clinging to his skin. His hair smells of my shampoo; he's used my toiletries. Surely that means something.

'I like you a lot.' He takes his first forkful, making appreciative sounds. 'I like seeing Heero Yuy without the fancy suits and the spreadsheets and the flunkies kow-towing to him all the time.'

I clink my glass against his. 'That doesn't happen so much here. Most of the people at the Paris office remember me from when I was a little boy, usually causing trouble. I tend to get reminded of the time I poured coffee into Odin's computer when it wouldn't start and I thought it needed caffeine, or set off the fire alarm because I wanted to see if the sprinkler system really worked.'

He laughs. God, I _love_ this. Even if he decides he wants to sleep at his hotel, if he never wants to see me again, I will have this memory, of Duo eating at my table, and laughing at me.

'This is you, right?' he says suddenly. 'This is Heero away from the office. A guy who has silly magnets on his fridge and photographs of his friends, and a shelf full of cookery books.'

I nod, because I suppose it is, and then I have Duo, my lovely, laughing Duo, abruptly in my lap.

'Please stay here tonight,' I beg him, tilting his chin so I can gaze into his eyes. 'I have a guest room. I just don't want you to leave.'

'Duh.' He tucks his head into my shoulder. 'Not planning on leaving, you dope. I'm like a stray cat; keep feeding me and you'll be stuck with me.'

'Good.' That would be most acceptable, I decide, stroking his back and feeling a shudder of pleasure course through him. He is utterly delicious in my arms; a warm, pliant weight leaning against me, letting me run my fingers through his hair, over his body.

He is – asleep. I should have known. He's claimed not to have been sleeping lately because of 'excitement'. Looking at his face closely, I can see shadowed smudges under his eyes. My poor darling; of course he's exhausted. Well, that settles the question of where he's going to sleep tonight. He's in no condition to be driven around Paris.

I'm so careful lifting him, but his eyes still blink open as I stand up. 'Mmm. You're a sexy beast after all, 'Ro. You carrying me off to ravish me?'

'Perhaps.' I smile down at him. 'Can you keep your eyes open?'

'Sure,' he says indignantly, then almost dislocates his jaw with the effort not to yawn. 'Uh, maybe. Oh, shit, you're gonna tease me 'bout this for the rest of our lives, right?'

'Every single day,' I promise, relishing the prospect. _The rest of our lives_. How wonderful that sounds. I kiss him, very lightly, when he starts to mutter an apology. 'Don't worry. Saturday's a far better day for ravishing anyway.'

'Yeah. Heard that.' His eyes have closed again, but his mouth curves in a drowsy smile, and I suddenly realise I can kiss those lips whenever I want. In private, anyway. Duo and I can kiss for the rest of our lives.

He lets me lower him on to bed, lifting his hips obligingly for me to slide off his sweatpants, and I tuck him carefully under the duvet,

'C'mere, 'Ro. You can't let me sleep alone my first night here. Please.'

He could, I think, charm anyone in the world with that smile, and that look of entreaty.

As I wrap myself around him, keeping him safe on his first night on Earth, his eyes open again, one hand straying to touch the gold cross he wears around his neck. 'Stay with me?'

'Always. Stay with me?'

'Yeah.' He takes my hand, placing it carefully on his chest. I can feel the slow thud of his heart, beating under my palm, for me. 'Always. Cross my heart.'


	5. Cross Border CoOperation

Disclaimer: I don't own the GW characters, and make no monetary profit from writing about them.

Many thanks to Kaeru Shisho, for editing, to Mifibou, who not only suggested a story set in Paris, but also did the translation to French, and to everyone who has been kind enough to comment.

**Cross-Border Co-operation:**

I'd looked up the location of the Winner HQ building on-line before my flight. In retrospect, I needn't have bothered. The thing was huge; a glittering multi-storey edifice that towered over the mostly low-rise city.

Quatre was in there somewhere; probably in a state-of-the-art corner office, befitting the only son and heir to all he surveyed.

It was handily located just across from the Metro; the stop was called Winner Tower. It was weird, seeing Quatre's surname on signs everywhere.

Blagging my way past the doormen with some bullshit story about a meeting I was late for was a piece of cake. For all their smart uniforms, the guys were hopeless at their jobs.

The next obstacle was a bit more formidable. Before getting to the lifts, I needed a Visitor's tag, and the security guys here were more vigilant, pointing me to a receptionist's desk.

'I'm here to see Quatre Winner.'

'Certainly, sir.' The young woman flashed me a coolly professional smile. 'May I ask your name and what time your appointment is for?'

'I don't have one. It's personal.'

'I'm sorry, sir. If you need to see Mr. Winner, you'll have to contact his assistant and make an appointment.'

_Mr. Winner doesn't see any scaff and raff who turn up off the streets._

She didn't say that out loud. She didn't need to; it was pretty damn obvious from her attitude. One manicured fingernail tapped the side of her desk.

Snooty bitch.

She gave me a flick of her perfectly styled blond hair and turned away with a little smirk, loving her little moment of power.

I hate these sorts of places and the people who work in them. This princess obviously thought she was way too good for her job; probably had dreams of catching the eye of the boss's son, and shimmying her way into a life of luxury.

Hah.

Dream on.

He's taken.

Unfortunately, he was also very hard to get to. Damn. Maybe I should have worn a suit; camouflage can be useful sometimes.

I had Quatre's number. I could have just called him, except that would pretty much screw up the _surprise_ part of surprising him at work.

Right then; new plan needed. Back outside to regroup and then…

'Excuse me,' a woman's voice said behind me. 'Are you Trowa?'

'How did you know?'

She beamed up at me. Nothing like the snotty receptionist, this one; she was petite and red haired and actually smiling like she meant it. 'I'm Becky, Quatre's PA. He has your picture on his desk, and I answered a call from you on Monday.'

Oh, yeah. I remembered; for once, I'd got an actual live person instead of Quatre's voicemail. Unfortunately, it hadn't been Quatre himself.

'Does he know you're coming? He never mentioned it.'

'I wanted to surprise him. But that bloody Nazi at the door won't let me in.'

'Her!' She threw a withering glance over at the reception desk. 'Never mind; I'll have a word with her later. Now, come on!'

'Rebecca!' the fascist blonde watchdog called out as we walked past. 'That man doesn't have an appointment. You can't take him upstairs. I haven't given him a visitor's badge!'

A truly evil grin spread across Becky's face as she sauntered over to the desk. 'Honestly, Julia. If you're going to work here, you're going to have to learn who people actually are. Mr Barton is Quatre's boyfriend, and Quatre probably isn't going to be too happy to find out how you treated him.'

She was beaming as we headed for the lifts. 'My God, you've no idea how good that felt!

She's been a bitch to me ever since I started working here.'

'Glad I could help!'

She practically glowed as we entered the lift, warming up the small compartment, and then ushered me along the corridor to her desk. Which was right outside a door with Quatre's name on the outside.

Finally.

Becky picked up the phone on her desk and dialled. 'Quatre?'

'Becky?' His voice, sounding a little confused. 'I thought you'd gone out for lunch.'

'One of your afternoon appointments showed up early. May I show him in now?'

She gestured to the door, giving me the thumbs up and totally ignoring Quatre's questions as to who was actually there.

And I opened the door.

I'd had a dream in my head, ever since I'd booked the flight, about how things would go once I saw him.

OK. It didn't go quite how I'd planned. At this point, in my imaginings, he would have hurled himself into my arms. He didn't do anything of the sort; maybe because he would have had to vault across what looked like a square mile of polished antique desk, topped with stacks of files and a computer and even the photograph Becky had mentioned.

I could have done it. Quatre had never mentioned any particular gymnastic skills; fencing and riding were his things.

Quatre Raberba Winner, in the flesh, wasn't quite how I'd imagined him to be, either. In all the photos I'd seen, he'd been dressed in bright, casual clothes, with tousled blond hair, and a sparkling smile for the camera.

In real life, he was wearing a dark, severely-tailored suit, had his hair neatly combed and slicked back from a slightly off-centre parting, and there was the hint of a frown between his brows.

Oh fuck.

'Trowa?' He just blinked at me. Not even the vaguest hint of a smile. Hell. Maybe I should have listened to Duo when he'd said his best friend didn't like surprises.

I pulled out a chair, without waiting to be asked. It didn't help. Standing, I'd felt like a naughty kid summoned to the headmaster (which might have been sexy in other circumstances). Sitting down, I felt like he was interviewing me for a job.

'What are you doing here?'

'I thought we could maybe go for lunch. Even business tycoons have to eat something, right?'

'That would be….lovely.' He had to pause before selecting the adjective. 'I just – you really came all the way here to take me out for a meal?'

'Yeah.' I shrugged. 'Or coffee. Whatever.'

He swallowed.' I'm sorry. I thought we'd agreed to wait to meet until I moved to Paris.'

'It seemed kind of stupid to be this close and not see each other. We're less than an hour apart by 'plane; I had the day off; the airline had a special deal on. If you're busy or something, we can just leave it.'

'No! No, not at all. I didn't mean…I'd love to go for lunch with you…it's just rather a surprise and I wasn't expecting…Can you excuse me for a moment?'

OK, he was finally starting to sound a bit more like himself. He got all flustered sometimes when I teased him about things.

Then he was grabbing the desk 'phone like a life line, rattling off a list of an afternoon meeting to be cancelled, and alternative arrangements to be made, and for the necessary people to be notified.

It was kind of odd seeing him like that; very much in control. He was smart and funny and could be a little diffident about some things. I hadn't really imagined what he'd be like at work; that he'd have had a personality transplant.

'Right.' He turned to me with a resolutely bright smile. 'There; everything's fine. What would you like to eat? There's a lovely little Italian restaurant around the corner. Would that be all right?'

'Italian would be great.'

He kept up a stream of small talk as we walked out of the building. Asking every possible detail about my flight took us to the pavement. Questions about Duo brought us to the restaurant. It was nice enough; someone's idea of what an Italian country kitchen looked like. More importantly, there were some good smells coming from the kitchen, and the other diners were happily digging in to steaming plates of pasta.

Once we were seated, he started on the subject of food. How much he loved Italian food; his attempts to cook favourite dishes; a pizzeria he'd been to a couple of times in Rome which was his favourite restaurant ever, and then he began to rattle off his recommendations for this particular place.

'The spaghetti carbonara is really good here, and they do wonderful pizzas. Or they have different specials every day…'

'Do they give you a commission on how much they sell?'

'Excuse me?'

'Look, Quatre, I didn't come for the food. I don't care what I eat. I'll have whatever you're having. I came here to talk to you, not get a review of every restaurant you've ever eaten in.'

He gave me a sudden, quick grin, and I realised abruptly that Quatre Winner was actually rather shy.

'Sorry. I have a habit of …. talking too much sometimes.'

'Yeah.' God, I had to wonder about his and Duo's friendship. Did they both just talk at the same time, or did they have some sort of agreed itinerary over who got to speak and for how long? Still, people said I didn't talk enough, so maybe it would balance out.

If things worked out.

Ordering took a few minutes, while Quatre listened intently to the day's specials, and then changed his mind a couple of times about what he wanted. I ordered the same as he was having, to save time, slightly regretting that he'd chosen mineral water over a glass of wine.

'Quatre.' He'd gone, in the space of one minute, from babbling to total silence, playing with a slice of bread, dunking it in olive oil until it was a soggy mess. 'Just tell me, was this a mistake, me coming here?'

Things had …cooled down a bit between us in the last few weeks. The non-stop stream of texts, emails and calls had dwindled significantly since he'd left L2. He'd said he was working on a major project and had a deadline.

'No!' Well, thank God for that. 'Not at all. I just wanted our first meeting to be perfect. Not that this isn't very nice and everything but…'

'What's wrong with it exactly?' I pressed. 'I finally get to meet you and we're sitting in a very nice restaurant about to have some good food. By my standards, that's pretty good.'

'It's all wrong,' he burst out. 'I'm wearing this _hideous_ suit for one thing, because we have a really strict dress code, and my hair's awful.' His eyes narrowed as he glared at me, running one hand through his hair so it stuck up in little spikes. 'That is not funny!'

'Oh, it is. Admittedly, that is a truly hideous suit.' It looked like something an undertaker would have worn to bury his entire family; stiff material in a sombre black colour, and an equally horrible tie. 'Why don't you take it off? Oh, not all of it,' I assured him. 'But you could take off the jacket and tie, couldn't you?'

'I could.' He did, even going to far as to open the top two buttons of his shirt. Racey guy. 'Much better,' I approved. The shirt was a pale blue that matched his eyes and showed off a nice little bit of pale skin at his throat. 'You don't look so much like you manage a mortuary now. One more thing.' I reached out to mess his hair up a bit more; it was soft under my fingers, just a little sticky from whatever gel he'd used. 'Much, much better.'

What was really better was how he leaned into my hand, obviously enjoying the little caress. He was smiling too; a real smile instead of the pinned-on variety.

Things were good.

'Everything OK now? I never meant to freak you out, you know. I thought it might be fun to surprise you.'

'I _hate_ surprises!' He declared emphatically. 'They're too unexpected, and you don't have time to make plans, and I like to plan everything so I know where I am. It's what I do!'

Since he didn't seem to like being laughed at, I buried my nose in my glass of water. I'd apparently just found Heero Yuy's soulmate. Still, my best friend was blissfully happy with Duo, who'd probably never planned ahead for anything in his entire life. I just had to convince this little blond control freak that he could be happy with me.

'I've been planning our first meeting in Paris for _weeks_, and it was going to be perfect!' He flicked me a suspicious glance, as full of wounded dignity as a kitten with a wet tail. 'Are you laughing at me, Trowa?'

'Wouldn't dream of it,' I said promptly and perfectly truthfully. Now that I'd met him in the very appealing flesh, my dreams would be far too full of other things. 'I'm looking forward to it. No reason why we can't have a second first meeting. What did you have planned, exactly?'

'It's a surprise.' He looked a bit uncertain. 'Heero said you like being surprised.'

'And you don't.' _Obviously._

'I'm just really nervous.'

'Of me? Why the hell would you be nervous of me?'

'Because…why _wouldn't_ I? What if you don't like me?'

'That cuts both ways, you know. You mightn't like me either.'

'Of course I like you!' He blurted, and then slowly turned seventy shades of scarlet.

'Good.' I gave his hand a little squeeze. 'I like you a lot and it would be sad if it just went the one way. As far as I'm concerned, surprises are good. And now I know it's in the works, I'll have that to look forward to.'

He laughed and everything was suddenly OK.

The pasta, when it came, was excellent; Quatre even unbent enough to agree to a glass of wine. I didn't know about him, but in my book this was shaping up to the perfect first date. There were just enough other diners to keep up a muted hum of conversation, but the place was quiet enough that we had no one sitting beside our table.

'Uh oh,' I muttered, watching the door swing open and a truly scary-looking woman in a severely-cut suit and dagger-heeled shoes stalk through. 'I'm betting some poor guy is in for a real bollocking when she catches up with him.'

'Oh no!' Quatre breathed, looking like he wanted to hide under the table. 'That's my father's assistant, Miranda. She's going to murder me!'

She looked murderous all right, and sounded it, rapping off a list of complaints from his dad, ending with a demand that Quatre head straight back to work and chain himself to his desk for the rest of his natural life.

He was wilting at the start of the tirade, then his chin flung up, and he just glared back at her. 'That's quite enough, thank you, Miranda. Please inform my father that I've already made plans for today and I'll be back in the office tomorrow. You may also tell him that in the future I'd appreciate him talking to me in person, rather than sending a member of staff to deliver messages.'

'Master Quatre, he said..'

'I think Master Quatre's just told you what to say.' God, Master Quatre. That was kind of sexy.

Her eyes swivelled around to me, narrowing like a snake. Horrible things. 'Who exactly are you?'

'Trowa. Trowa Barton. I'm an archaeologist.' OK, I wasn't sure where the hell that had come from.

'He's my boyfriend.' Quatre sounded rather proud of the fact. 'Now, good afternoon, Miranda. Please tell Father I'll see him in the morning.'

'Wow.' I gave his hand a quick squeeze. 'You are amazing.'

He laughed shortly. 'Hardly. I should have done that weeks ago. Oh, can you give me a minute please?' He took out his phone and dialled. 'Becky? It's me. Can you please cancel all my appointments for this evening? Yes, even the dinner meeting. I'll be back tomorrow morning. Yes, thank you. I will. Yes, I'll tell him.'

'Tell me what?'

'That you're good for me.' He took a huge slug of wine. 'Wow. I actually have the rest of the day off. I haven't even had an afternoon free since I got back to Earth.'

'How come? You always seemed to have plenty of free time when you were on L2.' Even when he'd been in the office, he'd been happy to talk or email.

He sighed. 'I was originally only going to be here for a fortnight, remember? Father wanted me to brush up on all our European subsidiaries, so it was madly intensive, but I thought it was only for a couple of weeks so I went along with it. Then he kept delaying my move to Paris, and gave me a project here, and I suppose I just got too caught up in work to object. For the last couple of weeks, I think I've basically done nothing but work and sleep.'

'Poor Quatre. That sucks. But you must have friends here, right? I mean, you grew up here. Haven't they tried to take you out sometimes?'

He twirled a few strands of fettucine around his fork. 'I _thought_ I had friends. Up until I was exiled to L2 and suddenly no one wanted to know me any more. '

'I've been meaning to ask you about that,' I said suddenly. 'How come you just up and left on your dad's orders? Didn't you even think of just staying here and finding another job?'

'Oh, I was totally shell-shocked. I'd known my parents weren't exactly going to throw me a coming-out party but I hadn't thought they'd be _that_ bad. I think I was on the shuttle before I even fully realised it. Then I actually got to L2 and met Duo and found out I had almost total control at work, and I started to enjoy it.' He shook his head. 'It's going to be different this time. I've got options. If Father is determined to treat me like this, I'll look for another job. In Paris, naturally.'

'Oh, naturally,' I echoed, grinning. OK, he wasn't quite the guy I'd got to know – thought I'd got to know – over the 'phone, but I liked this version. A lot.

'Um, that's all right, isn't it? I'm not being too presumptuous or anything?'

'I happen to like presumptuous.' I clinked my glass against his. 'To the emancipation of Quatre Winner.'

'Absolutely. Goodness, I can't believe I've been such an idiot. I'm sorry, Trowa. I've probably been working eighteen hours a day for the past month and I've totally neglected you.'

'Tunnel vision,' I told him. 'It's happened to me when I'm working to a big deadline. Nothing else even registers. I'm kind of flattered that you still managed to plan this big date in Paris.'

'It's the only thing that's been keeping me going,' he said frankly and then blushed. 'Knowing I'd get to see you.'

'And now you're seeing me.' He hadn't minded the hand-squeezing before, so I did it again, this time keeping his hand in mine. 'So…my flight's not 'til eight this evening. We've got the whole day together. What would you like to do?'

He considered, smiling faintly as he looked at our joined hands. 'You've never been to Sanque before. I could show you around a little, if you liked. The Old Quarter is beautiful, all cobbled streets and gabled houses. And we could go for a walk in the Botanic Gardens. The cherry blossoms should be in bloom.'

'That sounds great. Really. Always assuming there's a secluded spot in the park where I can kiss you under a cherry blossom tree.'

'I – I think there might be.' He was blushing at that, cherry-blossom pink. Cute. 'Um. Trowa, what time do you start work tomorrow? '

'Not 'til eleven. Why?'

'Because there are early morning flights to Paris.' His colour deepened to wild rose. 'I mean, if you liked you could stay the night.'

'I'd like. Madly. I'm not sure if I can change my ticket though.'

'I'll look after that.' The phone was whipped out again. 'Becky? Can you please check flights to Paris for tomorrow morning? No, it's for Trowa.' He looked at me. 'She's looking it up. What's your passport number? Oh, that's perfect. Yes, just the one seat, please.' He was suddenly holly-berry-red. 'Um, no thank you. That's not necessary. Thanks, Becky.'

'So I'm staying here tonight?'

He nodded. 'Your flight is at half past eight tomorrow. Executive class so you only have to check in fifteen minutes before. Don't worry; it's on the company account and we have zillions of air miles so it won't cost anything.'

'OK.' I gave in gracefully, letting him be Mr. Take Charge for a minute. 'So what did she say to make you blush like that?'

'Um.' He fiddled with his napkin. 'She wanted to know if she should book you a hotel room.'

'Did she now?' OK, Becky was getting the biggest bunch of flowers ever.

'Yes. I hope you don't mind. I mean, I have a spare room if you…'

'I hate spare rooms,' I said firmly. 'Utterly loathe them. Practically a phobia.' God, I could feel the melon-slice grin taking over my entire face. 'So what's the plan? A nice walk 'round town, then dinner and a movie before you take me home? You said you haven't seen the new Harry Potter yet.'

Or we could just go straight back to his place and I could find out exactly what he was hiding under the horrendous suit. I crossed my legs resolutely. There'd be time for that. The whole night and then all our lives, ideally. It wouldn't hurt just to do some dating stuff first.

'That would be…amazing.' He glowed up at me.

'Perfect?'

'Perfect.' He nudged my foot under the table.

'Good. Now, just two things we've got to do. I'll need to stop off somewhere to buy a toothbrush and something to change into for tomorrow. And you need to book your flight to Paris.'

He nodded fervently. 'Yes, of course. Even if Father does end up firing me!'

'I don't think he could be that stupid. But you could always be my toy-boy 'til you get a new job. I bet Heero's stepfather would employ you like a shot. Now, come on. I'd rather not kiss you in front of a roomful of strangers, so we need to find a cherry tree that I can push you against and kiss the hell out of you.'

When we eventually found the perfect tree, sunbeams were filtering through the blossoms to tangle in his bright hair, along with a few stray petals. My hands, ghosting over his hips, could feel the folded paper in his pocket; a print-out of a one-way ticket to Paris for the following week.

The perfect setting for a perfect, _perfect_ first kiss.


End file.
